Nunky was not at all surprised to see him so weak, but it grieved his mother. He did not ask again to sit up, but lay twisting his fingers, and thinking what a long day it was.
“Oh, dear! what made God make me, mamma? I’m tired of being made.”
Pollio knew just as well as you do that he had been a naughty boy, and that he was suffering for it. He disliked himself exceedingly; and I think that was one reason he was so cross, and begged his aunt Ann to go away.
“Aren’t you willing mamma should leave you a while, and lie down?” asked Nunky, who saw that she looked pale.
“Yes, I guess so, if you’ll play ‘The Shepherd’s Pipe,’” replied Pollio, scowling; for he could not bear to look pleasant a moment.
When he had made Nunky play “The Shepherd’s Pipe” till he was quite out of breath, Pollio said, “Fank you,” and pulled a lock of front-hair without raising his head from the pillow.
Nunky smiled to see, that, sick and cross as he was, he did not forget his manners.
“Well, my little general, is there any thing else I can do for you?”
“You may show me some o’ your pictures.”
Nunky brought two landscapes from his studio. One was a brook half hidden by bushes, and so natural that you could almost see the leaves and grass flutter, and the water slip bubbling over the stones.